


The Five Stages of Grief (In Accordance to the Vertically Challenged)

by Jae_Y



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gumi can do pushups I can't though, Gumi swears but only because she's watching an action movie, Yuma's a tall bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae_Y/pseuds/Jae_Y
Summary: Short people jokes will never die because short people will never grow enough to overcome them.
Relationships: Gumi/VY2 Yuuma (Vocaloid)
Kudos: 2





	The Five Stages of Grief (In Accordance to the Vertically Challenged)

**Author's Note:**

> I learned recently that I'm shorter than Levi.
> 
> I coped with this through writing this, and also making sure I kingeri every tall person that makes a point to abuse their reach advantage when sparring at the dojo.

_1\. Denial_

Gumi struggles, her toes curling into the marble tiling, as she mentally wills for her body to stretch more. She extends her left arm up toward the vegetable oil, situated on the topmost shelf of one of the cabinets. She doesn’t know why it’s up there, because she's the only one that cooks out of herself and her flatmate, and every time she uses it, she puts it under the cabinet. But there it is. On the top shelf.

She ends up climbing onto the part of the counter that juts out further than the cupboards and cabinets do. It's probably natural bodily instinct that's making her hesitate as she tries standing on the edge of the counter top. Gumi looks around momentarily before she tentatively puts the remainder of her body weight onto the top of the fridge door to regain her balance.

Gumi curls her fingers, as if to coerce the bottle to move into her grasp telepathically. As soon as she manages to touch the greasy label of the bottle, her ears perk up at the sound of ambling footsteps. It’s the only warning that she gets before the fridge opens beneath her arm and her centre of gravity is thrown off.

_Thunk!_

Gumi rubs her head, wincing before she shoots a glare at her flatmate who blinks at her stoically, his unkempt, periwinkle-dyed locks tied back into a little ponytail. Yuma blinks at her, then shrugs and waddles around the now opened fridge door, grabbing a bottle of water and the pitcher of cordial. He makes his drink, shakes the water bottle until its contents matches the colour of his hair as he he walks back to his room.

Suddenly he stops and reverses until he's behind Gumi. The sudden decrease in proximity makes her ears burn and her heart leap into her throat. She barely swallows a squeak at the feeling of her back gently knocking against his chest.

And then Yuma just grabs the bottle from over his head and places it into Gumi's lap.

She stares dumbfounded at the bottle before climbing off the counter. She’s about to thank him when she catches the ghost of a smile Yuma has on his face as he exits the kitchen.

That fucker put it there on purpose.

Her eye twitches.

Gumi doesn't like him.

* * *

_2\. Anger_

This movie is fucking _awesome_.

It’s the kind of movie that feels like a dose of steroids. Or horse tranquilizer. Or the two combined. One that big, burly muscle-bound men would crack open a cold one to. It makes her want to join in on the action, to fire an RPG at a tank and watch it explode and scream “Fuck yeah!” and punch something. In that particular order.

And then Gumi registers the pain in her neck and a black mass directly blocking her view.

Some fucking asshole won’t take their fucking hat off and she cannot fucking see anything without turning her neck into a fucking pretzel.

Gumi keeps leaning this way and that way; it gets to the point where her butt's raising off her seat, and she may or may not have elbowed Yuma in the process of trying to even see the _explosions_.

Yuma silently watches her, hiding his chuckles at the other's demise through mouthfuls of gummi bears and sips of Sprite. It’s only when hat-man decides to sit up and lean forward, but his hat _still_ stands tall, and Gumi looks about ready to explode herself, that he offers to switch seats. In her new seat, she subconsciously moves away so she doesn't get elbowed in the ribs because _wow_ hat-man’s now leaning back into his seat.

Gumi silently and graciously thanks Yuma for taking one for the team, and peers over at him as she reaches for the gummi bears.

The fucker can see _perfectly_ over the hat. And he knows that Gumi knows that he can. And Gumi knows that Yuma knows he isn't hiding his amusement behind stuffing his face with snacks well enough anymore. And speaking of snacks, Yuma’s finished all the gummi bears.

An explosion illuminates Yuma’s face enough for Gumi to see him wearing that smirk again.

Gumi hates him.

* * *

_3\. Bargaining_

Sweat rolls down Gumi’s jaw and into the collar of her tank.

She’s at 35.

36...37...38...39...40.

Yuma’s matching her lift for lift.

43..44...45...

Yuma’s starting to get tired. Gumi's rivulets of perspiration are beginning to reek of victory.

47...48...49-

“Overcompensation isn’t sexy,” Mizuki says as she strolls past the pair of them, pointedly looking at Gumi as she grabs one of the two matching Nike backpacks next to Yuma. Gumi loses her concentration, and her arms give way in the way the rules of their pushup challenge say they’re _not_ supposed to.

Yuma gets to fifty and starts laughing. His younger sister joins him in his mirth as Gumi fumes at her. Her muscles are the same size as Yuma’s, maybe even bigger. Mizuki's a little shorter than her brother, but she's still taller than Gumi. And she knows Yuma just has more body to go with so his arms just look smaller.

Gumi hates both Yuma and his sister.

* * *

_4\. Depression_

Sleepy shuffles across the carpet turn to hisses when Gumi’s feet meet the cold tile of the bathroom floor. Gumi groggily stands in front of the mirror, brushing her teeth when Yuma comes into the bathroom to join her.

He grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste, stands behind Gumi, rests his chin on her head, and starts brushing his teeth.

Gumi lets her hand hit the counter with a thud and glares at Yuma in the mirror as angrily as she can with her eyes half open and her toothbrush sticking out of her lips.

He smirks and bends his knees just a little to ruffle Gumi’s already-messy mop of hair.

That was it.

Gumi spits into the sink and rinses her mouth, shrugging off Yuma's hands as she trudges out of the bathroom. She doesn't need to turn around to know Yuma’s staring at her concerned frown carving a scar into her spine.

Gumi hates this.

* * *

_5\. Acceptance_

The door gives way much easier under Gumi’s weight than it usually does. Or maybe she’s just leaning against it and her fatigue is making her heavier. Either way, she stumbles when she enters the house late from work and dead tired on her feet.

The light’s on in the kitchen. Yuma’s stayed up waiting for her reading the latest volume of a manga Gumi bought him earlier that week. He sees Gumi and smiles this dumb romantic smile, walking over help her not fall asleep in the kitchen.

When they get to their little couch-bed hybrid in the living room, Gumi leans into his chest. Her head fits under his chin and she can’t help but nose a smile into his neck as Yuma’s arms wrap around her almost as effectively as a blanket. She feels so girly like this. Petite. Small. But she doesn't mind, because she fits _perfectly_ in his arms.

Gumi likes this.

Gumi likes him.

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on Fanfiction.net aeons ago, and I just felt like I wanted to post something, so I edited this real quick. Thanks for reading!


End file.
